Tonight We Shall Save Your Son
by SoulOfSnow
Summary: Melisandre promises to help Davos save his son, but her methods drive him to dishonor his wife and family
1. Halo of Blood

1.

Davos stood among the ashes of the Seven that had been burned the night before. Smoke still rose from the scatter of ash still hot enough to burn, like those one might find in the hearth of his chamber come the morning. But there was nothing welcoming about their warmth, instead they stood as a reminder of the damage they had done. _We have turned our backs on the Gods, and we will suffer for it_. It would not do to voice his fears before his King; Stannis was less likely than most to listen. He would simply grind his teeth and muse over his table, carved intricately into the map of Westeros and when Davos was done, he'd dismiss him and his woes.

Instead, Davos took the honourable route, though it made his skin crawl to consider such a task. _Has being honourable always been so—unnatural to me?_ Once Davos considered the life of piracy a necessary flaunt of the rules, especially if he were to feed eight hungry mouths. His sons were only just of age to help him plunder the sea and shore alike, and his wife was never one for taking from others, though she lived comfortably from the treasures of such a trade. Since his knighthood however, his honour had increased tenfold though he could not explain why. _I would do anything for my King. Anything and then some_.

She came to him at the time he had requested, though he could sense her presence long before she arrived. The burning ash grew brighter and the smoke rose higher, spindly grey fingers clawing at the clouds above them.  
>"Lord Davos," She purred, standing just outside of the circle of burned debris. "The night is—…"<br>"…dark and full of terrors, I know." Davos was beginning to grow loathsome of her prayers.  
>"The night is a strange time to meet, my lord." She smiled at him, as though mocking his misinterpretation. Melisandre wore a long scarlet dress cinched at the waist with a thin belt of enamelled bronze that only flattered her curved figure more. Waves of long red hair whipped and snapped like a banner in the wind; flames licking up the salt air. The heat from the priestess was stifling and uncomfortable. For one moment, Davos allowed himself to wonder what it would be like to touch her pale skin and <em>feel<em> the warmth oozing from her pores. He shivered.  
>"Tell me, Melisandre—what do <em>you<em> stand to achieve by having King Stannis take the Iron Throne?" Davos rested his hand on the hilt of his sword; the other fondled the pouch around his neck for assurance. _No, don't do that. Any sign of weakness and the red woman will pounce. _He quickly dropped his hand.  
>"Stannis Baratheon is Azor Ahai; the chosen one who will lead us out of the darkness. Without his success, we will be cast to the shadows for eternity." Though her words carried much despair, Melisandre smiled beautifully and clasped her hands together.<br>Davos frowned. "Is that what you see in your fires, my lady?" The ruby at the woman's throat began to pulsate, the red light within growing brighter and brighter until it was all he could do not to turn away and shield his eyes.  
>"I see much and more in my fires, Lord Davos." Melisandre had to raise her voice to be heard over the roaring waves. A storm was coming, and the ocean was beginning to express its displeasure, spewing over the rocks behind him and swallowing up the grey sandy shore. Plumes of ash began to swirl around him as the wind picked up a little, voicing its discomfort also. But none felt less at ease than Davos.<br>"Aye, you see things, mayhaps. But could it be that you read them wrong?" Davos meant to slight the red woman as she had earlier, but she only smiled more, releasing her hands and lifting them. Suddenly, the ash that encircled him ignited once more. The flames rose so high Davos could not see a thing, and the heat was unbearable.  
>"You tell me, Lord Davos." Melisandre sang, though she could not be seen through the wall of fire. Davos lifted an arm across his forehead to shield his eyes, but salty tears ran down his cheeks nonetheless, his eyes straining at the intensity of the heat. The smell was that of burning wood; earthy and thick—but another smell lingered there too. <em>Burning… people burning. <em>Davos closed his eyes, but the images danced through his mind as clear as day. He could hear the screams, the sound of roaring flames and everything was red. Everything was dead. The sea ran pink with blood, and the sky was black with smoke. When Davos opened his eyes—she was there.  
>"You saw them, didn't you Lord Davos?" They stood mere inches apart; her breath was as hot as the fires that surrounded them. <em>How did she cross the flames and not burn? Why didn't she burn? Why won't she burn? Why can't she just <em>burn_? _Davos thought to step back, but the flames at his back were already whispering their threats at his cloak.  
>"I saw nothing but flames."<br>"Exactly," She said, her voice hushed and gentle. "The flames are coming for you, Lord Davos. I have seen them in my fires and now you have, too."  
>Davos looked around quickly to prevent his eyes from watering further. The fire had grown taller to such a point he could not see the end of the flames. <em>She means to burn me alive here<em>.  
>"I saw flames, my lady, because that is exactly what we are surrounded by." Davos would not break.<br>Melisandre laughed. "Quite," Stepping back, the red priestess looked passed the onion knight and towards the fires. All at once her hair lifted from her shoulders and spread like the wings of an eagle in a thousand directions, framing her face in a halo of blood. When her eyes closed and her lip parted, the flames fell away into nothing, and only ash remained. "Let me tell you something, Lord Davos. I have seen the pain you will suffer in due course, and I weep for you, truly. But I can also help you."  
>Davos wiped the dampness from his cheeks and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. "It was my faith that helped me, Melisandre. And we have turned away from them on your command." Davos had never been one for bitterness, but he had much and more in regards to this woman.<br>Melisandre circled him slowly, and wherever she went the heat of the fires that had once kissed his skin returned, only this time it was a biting pain instead of a gradual one. "Seven Gods for seven sons."  
>"And each will protect one of my boys."<br>"The Maiden does not protect boys, so who is looking after young Maric?" The mere mention of his son's name on that red woman's lips made Davos clench his teeth in distain. _No weakness, smuggler. Show no weakness. _  
>"The Warrior protects them all in battle, and the Smith when trading at sea." Davos replied, just as Melisandre stopped full circle to stand before him once more, though not as close. This time she was not smiling.<br>"No, Lord Davos—the night _is_ dark and will be full of many terrors for your sons. It is the Lord of Light; R'hllor, who will save their souls." She smiled again then, and stepped dangerously close, her scarlet eyes shining in her own light. "Of course, they cannot be saved."  
>Davos recoiled, reaching once more for his sword. "What did you say?"<br>"The Lord of Light will take what he wants and I cannot prevent him." She shrugged languidly and looked to the ground. "But I can help you save another. I can save your boy Devan from unspeakable pain, Lord Davos." Melisandre smiled and reached to touch his cheek, but Davos shied away.  
>"You're lying, red witch." He turned his head and spat into the ash by his feet.<br>"Am I?" Melisandre turned the palms of her hands to the sky and the debris around them began to ignite. "Shall I let you see for yourself, Lord Davos? I must warn you, the sound of Devan screaming in terror was not easy for me to witness. I should think you would suffer his howls of suffering even more so than I." There was an air of taunting in her tone, and the way her terrible red eyes lit up at the idea was sickening. Davos could taste the revulsion on his tongue. But he believed her. _Why would she lie about Devan? The boy is young and half mad with love for her. _It was as though she sensed his trust, and closed her fingers into her palms, killing the flames. This time her smile was kind, and strangely reassuring. She took his stunted hand and for a moment Davos thought she might burn right through the tough leather fabric with her heat. "Come, Lord Davos. Tonight we shall save your son."


	2. Of His Own Accord

2.

Melisandre had been given chambers cast off from much of the rest of the guest rooms and overlooking the raging ocean in the most envious view Davos had seen in some time. _Still, nothing beats riding those waves, and feeling their turmoil beneath your oars, with the ferocity of the wind in your sails. _Davos stood in the doorway as Melisandre slipped inside. It was quite a stark comparison between this and his own chambers; even the King did not have a room as lavish as the red woman's. The large bed was solid oak with intricately carved scrollwork running along the frame and up the four tall posts. Scarlet frills hung from the canopy like blood dripping onto the violent red bed sheets. The stone floor was covered in fresh rushes, and on the other side of the room, the maids had laid out a fine rug the colour of a rich Dornish Red. The tapestry that hung along the far wall was that of swirling reds and oranges and what once might have been the brightest yellow, but had faded over time into dull beige. The drapes were crimson coloured and tickled the floor with the odd loose thread. The small table matched the nightstand and were of a similar oak as the bed, but it was the hearth that took the prize as the most awe-inspiring piece Melisandre owned. It was large and black and round and the fire that burned within roared with intensity in a way a hearth fire never should. As Melisandre swept passed it, the flames leapt into the air in a desperate attempt to reach her, like a child pulling at its mother's skirts for attention. She muttered something in her foreign tongue and closed the drapes across the window with the view of the sea. _Even now, she denies me what I yearn for_.  
>"Come inside and warm yourself by my hearth, Lord Davos." She beckoned him inside by extending her hand to him. Davos declined the offer and stepped within her walls of his own accord. <em>Remember that, smuggler; you entered willingly<em>. The room was stiflingly hot, and Melisandre's presence did nothing to aid the increasing warmth that began to suffocate him in his cloak and padded surcoat. With one finger he tugged at his collar as Melisandre swept passed him to close the door. Standing between him and his only exit, she offered him refreshment. "I have the finest Dornish Red, Lord Davos." Again he refused her, politely raising his hand when she thrust a cup in his direction. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and his hair was damp with perspiration. Davos watched Melisandre drain her cup of wine swiftly. The sound of her teeth scraping lightly on the silver rim as she drank made the room seem suddenly hotter. Davos cleared his throat and looked away from the terrible red priestess. "You look uncomfortable, Lord Davos." Her words rang through his ears and caused a funny stirring in the pit of his stomach, making his skin feel even hotter. _She's controlling me,_ he realised, but it was too late to stop the impossible heat that was choking him from the inside out. He almost welcomed her deft fingers unclasping his cloak and letting it drop, heavy with salt and sea and memories to the floor. Melisandre placed a hand on his cheek, but Davos could barely stand her touch. She was burning like her fires, singeing his skin with her touch. Davos stepped away towards the window. He threw back the drapes and pushed and pushed until the rusted clasps gave way and the night air came hurling towards him; howling and crying and-  
>"Screaming!" Davos covered his ears at the terrifying sound of a child's scream, carried by the wind into the woman's chamber.<br>"Yes, Lord Davos." She exclaimed, standing behind him "Devan's screams of terror made me weep too." A gentle finger brushed away the tear that ran unbidden down Davos's cheek.  
>"My boy…" He heard himself whisper, though the screams drowned him out. Melisandre stepped forward and forced the window shut. The silence was deafening. <em>My boy.<em>  
>"Do you see now?" She turned to him, and there was pain in her red eyes. "Do you see why we must save him?" <em>What would make him scream like that? <em>There had been such a time that Davos would answer his question with a single name: _Melisandre_. But now she had trapped him in such a vice that he found it impossible to wriggle free. She was his only option and the loss of any and all power was crippling. Davos pulled out a chair from the oak table and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his gloved palms.

Two firm hands squeezed his shoulders, and Melisandre leant down until her lips gently brushed down over Davos's right ear. "You would never want anything to happen to your son." She whispered, her breath tickling him as she spoke.  
>"Never." Davos could never imagine harm coming to any of his boys; he was their father and it was his role to protect them. That was what hurt him the most—having to give that role, that <em>right<em> to Melisandre.  
>"Then come to me, Lord Davos." Melisandre stepped away and towards the bed, her voice as soft as a cat's purrs "Come to me and show me you want to save your son." Davos was on his feet before she could finish her sentence. Of course he wanted to save Devan; she was foolish to think he would not. <em>Or was that her ploy all along? You fool, smuggler—she's playing you for a fool<em>. The fire in the hearth crackled, taunting him as Davos removed his gloves. Melisandre leaned against one of the bed posts, her eyes never leaving him for a second. He peeled away the leather and opened and closed his fingers. Then pulled off the other and revealed his shortened digits. Melisandre smiled and took his stunted hand in hers, pulling him close until they were as they had been in the circle of fire. She brought the hand up to her lips, watching Davos closely as she softly kissed each stump, taking the longest, the middle finger in her mouth and sucking lightly until Davos closed his hand into a fist and dropped it to his side. She ran her hands down his surcoat, stopping for a moment over his chest and smiled. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode, and her recognition of this only made it worse. The heat between them was beginning to be as unbearable as the warmth in the room—Davos thought he might die of overexposure to such extreme temperatures. Her fingers deftly unbuckled his sword belt, _my last piece of protection_, and let it clatter to the floor. Only when her fingers moved further south did Davos snatch her wrist with his good hand.  
>"No." He said; firm but quiet, and the priestess nodded obediently. Instead she ran them back over his hips and to the ties of his surcoat, making short work of the lacing and helping Davos discard the garment with his cloak. Beneath, his white shirt was sodden with sweat, and for one fraction of a second Davos felt as though he should be embarrassed. <em>Your wife doesn't mind it, smuggler. Why does it matter that the red witch thinks<em>? But it did, and Davos could feel a blush creeping up his cheeks when Melisandre took her hands away and regarded him a moment. Her eyes were unreadable, but seemed a darker red than before. This was not the red for danger, but rather the red for passion. It felt as though she were testing him when at last Melisandre unfastened her own cloak; trying to see how far he'd go for his son. _I will do anything for my son, red witch. Even you_. His thoughts turned to his lovely wife, Marya—so far away at Cape Wrath. He wandered if she ever thought of him the way he'd sometimes imagine her; naked as her name day and beckoning him to their chambers with a sweet and playful smile. Marya was a wonderful woman and an eager lover—seven sons proved that true. Davos could hear her voice calling his name, soft a whisper and yet as bright and cheerful as she always was.  
>"Davos." So sweet and honest and never with any hint of displeasure.<br>"Davos." The only woman he could ever love, truly and openly.  
>"Davos." That was not Marya's voice. Davos realised only then that Melisandre was beckoning him closer to her, his name escaping her lips like a dirty secret. He could sense her desire now, wanting to have him pressed against her in his arms. But he couldn't move. Had fear truly enveloped him, as well as this impossible heat? Davos could only choke out a strangled cough in reply. He had shown enough weakness in such a response that Melisandre's boldness grew, and her hands were soon fumbling with the laces of his breeches. Her eyes met his and she unlaced the final ties painfully slowly, fingers brushing over the growing bulge that aided the laces in loosening in her hands. He swallowed hard and choked back another pained protest. She was melting him, and she would have him. When at last she pulled the front of his breeches down, his cock sprang free as hard a rock, a rivulet of pre-come already forming on the tip. Melisandre seemed to marvel at the sight, her hands remaining close, but not so close there seemed any danger of her touching it. They had not touched one another anywhere else, and it would not do to end her game so easily. She bit her lip and returned her gaze to the onion knight's dark brown eyes, her lips then parted slowly as she drew closer. The smell of wine on her tongue mingled with her hot breath could have knocked Davos down, if he were not stuck— motionless and vulnerable. He tried to think of Marya, to focus on her purity and kind heart. But in his mind, Marya melted in Melisandre's fires, and everything went black.<p> 


End file.
